


Growing Up Goblin

by akaVertigo



Category: Labyrinth (1986)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-10
Updated: 2019-04-10
Packaged: 2020-01-10 20:34:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 17
Words: 3,476
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18415355
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/akaVertigo/pseuds/akaVertigo
Summary: The magical childhood that Sarah Williams never had.





	1. lost scene

**Author's Note:**

> Please note that despite the J/S tag, there are no sexual overtones to the relationship.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sarah’s babysitters never lasted long.

Sarah’s babysitters never lasted long.

It wasn’t that the Williams house was a hard job exactly, because it wasn’t; the fridge was always loaded, cable was available, Mr. Williams tended to overpay and Mrs. Williams was glamorously oblivious to messy countertops and scattered magazines. And Sarah, of course, was a very sweet little kid. A little...spacey, but sweet. She kept all fingers out of electric sockets and finished her milk. In fact, Sarah hardly required attention at all; she was perfectly happy to find a spot out of sight and play quietly for hours. 

...which was the problem, really. Because despite the very definite memory of Sarah calmly playing in the basement—which was also a little odd when you thought about it—it was hard to remember exactly her doing so. Certainly, any sitter worth her skinny paycheck would check up on their charge, regardless of how quiet their fun, but with Sarah...well, one minute you were coming in as the parents were going out and then...then you must’ve done something, must’ve made her a sandwich...a lot of sandwiches, actually... _all those crusts and marmalade smears_...and maybe, maybe you two took a walk around the neighborhood or park because there were nettles...or petals...in Sarah’s hair... _in December_...and then, well, then you must’ve watched her color or read a book or dress her dolls or whatever it was she did downstairs in the dark because you had, you had to have seen her do something, _you couldn’t have just sat there like a spellbound dummy for five hours without noticing anything._

Mr. and Mrs. Williams noted the turnover with vague puzzlement, chalking it up to fickle adolescence. Sweet little Sarah could’ve provided a better explanation, but was usually too busy juggling a plateful of sandwiches on the basement steps to do so.


	2. 2 a.m

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There were probably many other childhoods without as many crumbs and stains to apologize for.

There were probably many other childhoods wherein waking up in the middle of the night to find a tall, Martian figure peering down at your tiny, pajama-and-cowlick-bang’ed self is weird.

Frankly, Sarah wouldn’t know the first thing to say to such people.

She pulled the Oreos package from its comfy niche behind the coloring books and scooted up towards the headboard. After a moment, the bed sagged just a little on the other end. Paper crinkled. 

There were probably many other childhoods without as many crumbs and stains to apologize for. 

But that wasn’t the only thing they were missing.


	3. metaphor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Adults lie.

Adults lie.

It wouldn’t be so bad, Sarah thought, if only there were honest about it. Like, it’s one thing to ask _how was your day honey_ when Mom’s obviously waiting for the phone to ring, but it’s worse to ask and then smile all throughout the story she’s obviously not listening to.

Or _sorry did we wake you sweetie mommy and daddy were just watching the news_ when the television is off and you’ve got ears and a brain.

The Goblin King always means what he says—even if what’s said isn’t always (ever) what you thought was meant.


	4. sky

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cloud watching Underground is a risky business.

Cloud watching Underground is a risky business. First off, goblins’ descriptive powers are...lacking; there are only so many repetitions of “fluffy”, “poofy”, and “chicken” a creative mind can take. Second, if a goblin thinks it looks like a chicken, they immediately think it _is_ a chicken, and will just as quickly chase after—usually right out the window and into the moat below.

Thirdly, and most importantly—meaning most annoyingly—there’s always the possibility that _every_ cloud will look like a chicken, no matter what, and that the Goblin King is grinning smugly somewhere behind you all the while.


	5. degrees

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> To find the Goblin King’s mood, seek his Fool.

To find the Goblin King’s mood, seek his Fool.

If the Fool is vexed, the King is laughing. If the Fool is curious, the King is worried. If the Fool is stubborn, the King is angry. If the Fool is baffled, the King is content. If the Fool is shocked, the King is unconvinced.

But if the Fool is hurt, if she’s wounded by word or hand or measure of any being within the Goblin King’s reach— _if she weeps_ —his wrath will make itself known.

For the Fool’s heart is under the King’s hand, and he’ll tolerate no interference.


	6. opposite

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tra la la, indeed.

** Livery ** , n.:  
1) _To be given land as a gift from the king. Also means to be given the right to wear a lord livery (modified form of his coat of arms)._ (MEDIEV-L. Medieval Terms)

2) _The tunic worn by a servant or follower of a lord, being in the colours of the lord's arms and bearing his badge._ (Wise, Terence. Medieval Warfare, 249)

  


Tra la la, here comes the King in gray and white, gold at his throat. And there goes his Fool, yellow patches up her heron legs and down her fair sleeves, ash-dark boots racing ahead. The King's black gloves; the Fool's dark cuffs. He swirls a crimson cloak, scowling; she doffs a red-peaked cap, laughing. Crystal spheres trap the Labyrinth in a glance; tiny bells echo down the curly paths.

(She asks _why do I always look like you?_ He claims _you never could._ )

The thorns on his lapels bloom into posy buttons under her chin.

Tra la la, indeed.


	7. lull and storm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ..it's safer to own up to the trouble before it reaches the King—and his boot reaches your arse.

In the Labyrinth if you have a problem, seek the King.

This is (typically) because goblin's problems are (usually) caused by goblins, and it's safer to own up to the trouble before it reaches the King—and his boot reaches your arse.

If your problem needs mending—not kicking—seek the Fool.

Nobody doubts she’s without magic. But she'll find vinegar for a rotten belly, and staple closed rips, and cajole willful fleas out of itchy ears. Nobody doubts her words have power.

Because in the Labyrinth nobody but the Fool can talk the King into lowering his hand...gently.


	8. conventions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He could've done it differently.

He could've done it differently.

He could've had her in silk and lace instead of motley. He could've taught dance first, juggling not at all. He could've made her sing and bow, not grin and caper. He could've forbade even the tiniest mote of dust to touch her. He could've put a gold ring on every toe, hung unfathomable jewels on each lobe, twined peerless silver ‘round each lock.

He could've given the Labyrinth a princess.

"'Kay, I oiled the Cleaners. Thanks for actually turning them off this time. Next?"

Yes, he could've made quite a mess of it.

But.


	9. one

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Once isn't one thing alone...

What nobody tells about _once upon a time_ is how long it actually takes.

Once isn't one thing alone; it’s the one thing that happens again and again, and thrice after that. It's the smile that never quite crumbles in face of regal scorn. It's the strand of hair that tangles its tail around a button on the chest pillowing a too-young, drowsy head. It's the too-small scuff mark on the throne arm that speaks of one boot heel propped in nearly perfect imitation of another.

What—almost—nobody understands is that _ever after_ happens one day at a time.


	10. dream

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A house is a body; a home is a dream.

A house is a body; a home is a dream.

A house can be injured, can grow scars like spots on furniture— _Grandmother's armoire that Mommy hates_ —or shiver at the bone, like an argument— _work, work, he works, she works, but they can't work it out_ —resonating past the kitchen ceiling into the bedroom floor above. A house can be saved, can be fixed, can be treated with new paint and roses, and sticky words— _Sarah, darling, be good, good night, goodbye_ —like frosting that won’t get off the cake.

A dream, once broken, can never be the same.


	11. lovefool

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One afternoon half the city's teacups hop to the castle...

Eels kiss her toes. Oaks and aspens giggle, bony branch-tips fondly tapping the cap's bells. Roots trip her for the grass to catch; weeds cuddle her wrists. The library stepladder trails her like a besotted hound. One afternoon half the city's teacups hop to the castle, the wind having spilled the Fool's request for cocoa. The same week the King's pillow wiggles into her lap—and refuses to leave. Wax oozes down the dungeon steps in anticipation, wicks dragging along. The cobblestones listen for her footsteps.

Amused and aghast, the King watches his kingdom crumble into love with his Fool.


	12. toll

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Do you hear that?

(He’d waited for it to happen for years, but as it turned out--and the Labyrinth was good at turning matters out and about--Sarah was nearly six before the first worry.)

“Do you hear that?”

“What?”

“Someone’s crying.”

“Crying--” Hoggle stood up so hard his back creaked. “Did you cut yourself? Let me see.”

“Uh-uh.” Still she held out both little paws obediently. No gloves. Odd, that: for all that the Fool’s costume faithfully echoed the King’s, her hands were always bare. Hoggle wondered if the difference meant anything.

Hoggle wondered a lot about Sarah.

For now, satisfied that his charge hadn’t accidentally lost a thumb, he turned back to pruning the hedges. “Probably just a goblin stuck in the drain pipes again. Copper amplifies the squealing.”

The cap bells jangled like coins. “No. That wasn‘t--I’m gonna go see.”

(The unchanged child. The part-time changeling. The King’s Fool. The one knot not of the Labyrinth’s making. The goblins didn’t notice; their memories barely stretched to recall the number of toes in their boots. They looked at the Fool and saw the King, assuming the former belonged to the latter much as a shadow did to the tree.)

She did as she said: she searched. She crawled under hedges and wiggled through gates and stuck her head so far down the urns he feared she’d fall easier than a pebble. She scrambled up whatever tree let her and dangled from the branches like a late apple. He thought fishing her out of the fountain was the worst of it until she looked up at him, drenched and serious, and said: “I’m going to go ask the King.”

(She always asked. How many stars in the carpet? How much rat in the soup? Where does this door go, what does this mirror see? Tell me, tell me, tell me…)

“Do you hear that?”

No, and she shouldn’t have either. “More sobbing?”

“No…” She paused, wide-sea eyes unfocused. Listening. “A clock. It’s ringing--no, wait. Um.”

“Chiming?”

“Yes!” She clapped in delight. Happy. Innocent. Oblivious. “Can you hear it now? 1...2...3...4...”

(She’ll find out. Lie and hide he can order them to do, but she’ll ferret out the rest of the story eventually. She’ll piece it together and see that the truth has worse things than mere fairy teeth.)

“5...6...7...8...”

(What’ll you say, then, your Majesty?)

“9...10...11...12...”

(What will _she_?)

“13...oh.” She blinked. “It's over.”


	13. vantage ground

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Which would've been a lot scarier to someone who didn't use an oubliette to hide reports cards.

The thing was she’d almost made it, almost reached her goal and won the day, almost had it. She’d _finally_ found a niche for her toes and _finally_ managed to keep hold on the bricks long enough to _finally_ get her hand in before—

_**“Sarah!”** _

—crashing spectacularly downwards. Not all the way down, of course; the same ivy that’d slipped her grasp was equally fast to wrap around her limbs, sparing a few extra cords for her back besides. It was a decent mid-landing. 

Sort of.

Really, there was no reason for Hoggle to look _that_ upset. The familiar craggy features bunched into familiar outrage-cum-worry. 

“I didn’t fall.” Sarah informed her sometimes-somewhat-supposed chaperon. “Falling's when you touch the ground.”

The treacherous creeper promptly dumped her in the dirt. Automatically Sarah lunged to catch a vine to bite. A childhood full of goblins instilled fierce habits in the mildest of manners—something the King's Fool never quite bothered wanting. The wily greenery hastily slithered out of reach. Sarah’s backup tactic—imperial glaring—was interrupted by Hoggle's inspection for cracked bones. Her cap’s bells jingled cheerily in protest at the rough survey.

“Break your silly neck, that’s what'll—”

“Hoggle.”

“—think you’re clever, but nobody--”

“ _Hoggle._ ”

“—skull split and knees in your ears—”

“Hedgewart!”

“It’s Hoggle!” 

“I know.” Sarah smiled. “Quit shaking? My ears are flapping.”

“Not like you're getting much use out of 'em otherwise.” He gave her another grim rattle. “How many times you hear to leave the walls alone, missy?”

Sarah tilted her head. Smiled. Usually the maneuver was enough to pop Hoggle’s temper. This time, however, it got her a finger in the face.

“Listen.” The dwarf’s eyes were rocky. “You’re not allowed outside the walls. Next time I catch you trying, I’ll—I’ll—I’ll lock you in the cellar.”

“Whose?”

“I—someone’s. Someone with a very deep, very nasty cellar.” Which would've been a lot scarier to someone who didn't use an oubliette to hide reports cards. “Not allowed means not happening, missy. King said so.”

And that, Sarah knew from laborious experience, was the only explanation available. She could shimmy and scoot into any corner of the castle, could tango and skip every which way through the Labyrinth...but couldn’t stick her nose outside it. Because the King said so.

It wasn’t fair.

But...

Sarah clicked her teeth at the ivy.

Tra, la, _la_.


	14. refuge

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "There are going to be splinters! And mosquitoes! And sing-alongs!"

“Summer camp.”

The two words were infused with all the vinegar ten-year old Sarah Williams had in her possession. 

Which, as a girl spending many afternoons in goblin company, was plenty. There was no denying it: the King’s Fool was…upset. Around the throne room, warty faces peered openly at the storm of yellow satin and green linen, cap bells (save one) chiming in sync with her temper. 

The king failed to look impressed. 

“Summer camp,” she repeated. “They're sending me to camp like—like locking out the dog. All because dumb Mrs. Carpenter’s dumb niece Hannah went.”

One dainty green-and-yellow boot punted a luckless bowl across the floor. It bounced off three of horns and two snouts before denting a bumpy forehead. Some applauded; her aim was improving.

The Fool was too busy ranting to note accolades. “There are going to be splinters! And mosquitoes! And sing-alongs! _I don’t want to go!_ ”

Abruptly exhausted by her tirade, she plopped down on a throne step. All was suddenly inexplicably silent.

Reaching down the King pinched one floppy, bright peak between two gloved fingers and tugged.

Nothing.

He tugged a trifle harder.

Nope. 

He _yanked_.

The Fool went sprawling backwards with a yelp, landing one step below a polished boot. She scowled up at him. “What?”

“There are mosquitoes in the woods you’re forever getting lost in,” Jareth said.

“I wasn’t lost; the tree kept moving,” she mumbled defiantly. “Plus, nobody here makes me sing.”

“You do it anyway.”

“That’s different.” She scowled harder. “They're _making_ me go.”

Still stretched across the steps, she laced her fingers across her stomach and said, “I’m running away.”

The King’s face was studiously unknowing.

“Here. I’m running away to here.” She spread her arms: a painted jellyfish in hat. “I’ll spend my summer in the Labyrinth.”

“And your parents?”

“I’ll leave a note.”

He flicked a bell with a finger; it rang louder and longer than it should have. Sarah closed her fist around it finally to end the sound. “You think your dear, kind guardians will settle for a note?”

“A _nice_ note.”

“Saying…what? Oh, sorry, papa, I’m too scared of bunk-beds and macramé to leave my cozy hovel; I’d rather roll in muck with goblins.”

“I won’t say—wait, how did you know about the macramé?”


	15. due

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "What’s wrong with me?"

It took longer than he expected. Much longer. In fact it wasn't till the third day of first grade that his Fool cannonballed into the throne room, demanding: “What’s wrong with me?”

A loaded question if there was and Jareth took a leisurely time pondering the best way to diffuse it.

Well, that and it was a nice bit of fun watching the little beast _squirm_.

“Well?” she asked in _that_ particular timbre.

“Well,” he replied with that particular inflection. “It is a rather long list. I’m deciding best on how to abbreviate…”

Her reaction was lushly gratifying. Sarah stomped, her sparrow-small body nearly jumping with the force of it, her cap bells ringing a crazy jig. Throughout the room goblins scattered out of the way (most succeeding only in falling underfoot, making the tantrum into a disorganized wrestling muddle) while their human member worked up into a genuine lather. Unfazed, their King merely settled back to better savor the parade. True, his Fool’s “good” behavior occasionally threatened predictability or, worse, respectability. But her tantrums--never. Those were vinegar and stress and gusto. It was like watching lightning trying to escape tar.

Eventually, as always, his darling marvel ran out of tinder; her anger cooled, then slowed, then flattened, then…nothing. She sagged down onto the throne steps and pulled off her bright cap to knead the peaks like dough.

“It’s not fair,” Sarah said. “I tried this time, I really, really, really did. I raised my hand and sat down and wore new jeans and didn’t bite anybody’s elbow, not even the littlest bit. I did everything right.”

 _No_ , thought the King, _you did everything like them. You copied and kept quiet and thought nobody would notice a sparrow playing among mice._

“Why don’t they--.” Suddenly, she stopped and twisted to stare up at him with large, urgent eyes. “ _You_.”

Oh?

She scampered up the cracked steps to his side. Chin on his fist the King leaned to meet the earnest gaze. “Hmm?”

“You can tell me what to do. How to fix it.” One paw over the other on his knee, she set down her chin. “To make them see…” 

She didn’t have the heart to finish, but instead replaced chin with cheek, eyes shut. 

“That you’re not strange. Aberrant.” He settled a gloved hand on the soft, dark hair. “ _Weird_.”

“Help me,” she whispered. “Please.”

Gently, he smiled. “No.”


	16. Fall of Troy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "It's a horse."

They're halfway through the box when the King sweeps in.

—and skids into a chair.

The room freezes as he slowly—oh, so fatally slowly—straightens. "Sarah?"

A sea of goblin squints turns to the Fool.

" _Sarah._ "

"Wha—oh." And, "Hi. Wanna see?"

The royal countenance refuses, but the rest of him bends towards the sticky wobble. He tilts his head left.

"It's a horse."

Jareth tilts his head right.

"Well, its legs."

He squints.

"Some legs. Leg? No laughing."

Gloved fingers touch the Popsicle planks, then rub together fastidiously. " …ah."

“That’s not— _guys_! I said lick, _**then**_ wash.”


	17. arrest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "You don’t feel like a Dad."

The first time was sudden: all-too small arms wrapped around him. Trapped between mortal hands and mortal heart, the Goblin King was spellbound. He suffered the panicked, adrenaline-soaked urge to break his little Fool’s arms at the elbow. He had the right to do so, he had the reason, he had…had…

He had a child in his arms, holding on with supreme trust and looking up at him with curious eyes.

“You don’t feel like a Dad,” she finally pronounced before letting go and tumbling off the throne, out of the room, back into the city, towards Hoggle and Didyamus and whatever other unfortunate bore her attentions.

In the wake of the moment, Jareth was left alone and silent, the lingering warmth on his back tight as scars.

The second time was slow: he'd been pleasantly mindless, staring at a sunny expanse of nothing, all but sprawling on the granite windowsill. By the time he'd actually registered the tug at his hair, she'd forged half a braid. 

"It's the oddest blond I've ever seen," she declared proudly. "It's like--like frost and summer at the same time. Isn't that _odd_?"

He pulled back, showing his teeth, and received no sign of chagrin in return; she merely dropped her hand, letting her work come undone.

"I like it a lot, though," said his unrepentant Fool before proceeding to dangle riskily over the window’s ledge in search of humorous clouds.

The third time was sloppy: she'd gotten into a nonsensical brawl with the Fireys (again) and stomped back to the castle wearing enough mud to pave a road. The goblins had laughed. The King had laughed.

And then stopped abruptly as she pressed both hands to his face, palm flat on each cheek like one page against the next.

"There!" She'd hopped back, rocking on her heels with impish poise. " _Gorgeous._ "

The next time--be it fourth, fifth, or sixty-seventh--does not matter. Because in every book of law and every tome of lore credible to his kind laying hand upon the King without permission means to forfeit your life for the privilege. As any King's subject should know. As any King’s subject would avoid.

But his Fool knows no laws, owns no history, fears nothing she know and treasures all she doesn’t. Her story is an unfinished path.

And every time he’s surprised by the Fool’s touch he feels that road wind deeper inside him.

**Author's Note:**

> This was a series of drabbles originally written in 2009 for the Labyrinth fanfic LJ community. Most of the titles came from the [64 Damn Prompts](https://64damn-prompts.livejournal.com) community.


End file.
